By John D. MacDonald
Sam Glidden owed all his luck to the possibilities he'd obtained from Thomas McGann, president of the Harrison company. yet now McGann used to be lifeless, and Mike Dean, a wildly flamboyant company speculator, was once trying to upload the Harrison company to his lengthy record of conquests. McGann's spoiled offspring, Tommy and Louise, observed the opportunity to make rapid immense greenbacks by means of promoting out their stocks. yet Sam Glidden could not stand to determine every little thing he'd labored for wolfed up by way of a barracuda like Mike Dean. So he wangled a call for participation to the sand-and-surf soiree Dean deliberate for Louise and Tommy within the Bahamas ...
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Extra info for A Man of Affairs
Louise greeted me warmly and introduced me to our crew. She had a bright look of holiday about her. Tommy Mc-Gann was equally cordial. Puss McCann was elaborately friendly. Warren Dodge gave me a half smile, a remote glance, a slack hand to shake for a half second. We went aboard. It was outfitted more like a lounge than an airliner. Wall to wall carpeting, wicker arm-chairs, tables, ash trays, magazines, a little kitchenette and bar. The steward came aboard and the drop door was pulled up and lugged shut.
Bowman was apologetic and dreadfully sorry that there was not. But we would be at Dubloon Cay in half an hour now. It was just thirty miles northeast of Grand Bahama. I found myself looking at Louise. She was standing by the rail, holding onto one vertical support for the Navy top. The wind snapped her glossy black hair against her cheek and molded her dress tightly against her high breasts and against her thighs. I just looked at her and when I turned and looked at Bowman he was still talking to Tommy, but he was looking over Tommy’s shoulder at me.
It is an unnatural affectation and it always makes me feel uneasy. "Glad you could join the party, Sam. Mike is delighted. " "Uh. Thanks," I said. I wished I could have been glib. I wished he’d let go of my hand. He made me feel if I were wearing coveralls and chewing a kitchen match. "I’ll get your stuff hustled through customs," he said. "And I’ve lined up three so-called taxis. Don’t be alarmed by them. They’ll get us to the Grand Bahama Club. It’s only three quarters of a mile away. Our boat is tied up at the club dock and we’ll have to run to Dubloon Cay.
A Man of Affairs by John D. MacDonald